My Invisible Boyfriend

by Day, Susie

  “I did get sort of carried away,” I mumble, fiddling with my apron frill as she wafts over to sit beside me.

  “Ridicule is nothing to be scared of!” Teddy shouts tunelessly, striking an Adam Ant pose. Then he shuffles all our scribbly papers together. “I’ll get these ready for you in a week or two, yeah?”

  “Oh, you don’t need to do anything fancy. I can just take them as they are,” I start to say, but he shakes his head.

  “Nope. I promised designs, so designs are what you’re going to get.” He leans across the counter, conspiratorially close. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m kind of enjoying myself.”

  “Aw, I love it when he geeks out,” Safak says, ruffling his curls. “Now shimmy, boy! Movie starts in twenty minutes.”

  Teddy grins, and hurries upstairs.

  “Thanks for cheering him up,” whispers The Lovely Safak, beaming at me over her shoulder as she glides after him.

  I make a quick mental note: Must give Ed more ruffleable hair.

  Usual term-time service continues at the Finch. Dad Man catches Etienne Gracey climbing up the fire escape to Stables. There are room searches on the emokids after someone writes “I ♥ PUNK ROCK” in petrol across the herb garden and sets it alight at 3 a.m., followed by room searches on the Gardening Club after someone adds “U ♥ MILEY CYRUS” in weed killer underneath. The Mothership leads assemblies on what to do if you find bags of puke in your roommate’s wardrobe. Jo-Jo Bemelmans gets sent home over a “medical issue” (also known as failing the random drug testing).

  And they add an extra hour into the schedule for ITP, because Integrating Through Positivity with Mrs. Ashe and her helmet hair is obviously going to fix all that.

  Our group struggles through the usual moronic role-play scenarios (Henry was bullied by Jambo Colley for being Polish: And how would you respond, Henry? Well, Mrs. Ashe, I’d probably begin by saying, “I’m not Polish.”), and writing a “contribution” of ten things we like about the Finch. That fills up the first hour well enough, as everyone chews the ends of their pencils and looks blank.

  And then we end up out by the lake, Henry, Fili, Peroxide Eric, Yuliya, Jambo, Honey Prentiss, Brendan Wilson, and me, all sitting in the cold October sunshine at the Circle of Peace. That’s what Cooper always called it anyway: this tucked-away little spot surrounded by trees, looking out over the lake. Everyone else calls it The Logs, because it’s some logs.

  I have a horrible moment of panic when I think she’s going to pull out a guitar with a rainbow strap and make us all Sing Our Pain, but apparently we’re sticking to a different one of Cooper’s lesson plans.

  The Secrets Box.

  Brendan makes the inevitable filthy comment, while Ashe hands round paper and pencils, and explains it to the newbies who didn’t play this game last year. Everyone has to write down a “secret,” or a thing they’re worried about, completely anonymously, and drop it into this big cardboard box, and then she reads them out so we can all offer our brilliant insights. She doesn’t mention the bit where the secrets are usually fictional (I’m failing Potions. My daemon is a Chihuahua, and I’m allergic to dogs. I woke up this morning and realized I was a cockroach: Is this normal?), or less-than-complimentary (I hate this lesson and have spent all of it thinking about shoes.), or the once-per-term guaranteed-a-laugh crowd-pleaser: Help! I’m trapped inside a cardboard box and people keep dropping bits of paper on my head!

  I end up chewing on the end of my pencil again. This is the first time I’ve done this when I actually have a real secret to keep—a really huge, gossip-worthy, Gingerbread Ed–shaped one—and there’s no way I’m risking a Frog Girl–shaped future by writing that down.

  But I’m a detective. Ed’s been good at finding a few things out, so far. Time I started pulling my weight.

  I scribble down my secret, making my handwriting look slightly less scrawly than usual just in case, then take the box from Henry on the log to my right, and pass it to Honey on my left. It makes its way round the circle, to Fili opposite me, who hands it to Eric, who hands it to Yuliya, all the way back to Ashe.

  “Now, class,” she says, peering at Cooper’s script while holding her glasses-on-a-string away from her eyes, as if she’s hoping they might get less cheesy that way. “Let’s all remember how we’d like our secret to be treated, and make sure we grant everyone else’s the same positive energy. Sharing is a very challenging thing to do, so let’s be respectful.” She opens the box, and reaches in.

  “I have a crush on a teacher.”

  “Isn’t that a bit unprofessional of you, Miss?” says Brendan.

  “Thank you, Brendan. Remember, it’s not important who the secret is about, just how the person might feel.”

  “Horny, Miss?”

  “Respectful, I said, Brendan? But yes, there might be some sexual feelings involved.”

  SECS.

  YEW.

  WOOL.

  That’s how she says it, like it’s some kind of rare medical condition. She’s like a one-woman condom. No one would do it ever again if they had to listen to her talking about it first. It’s probably why they hired her.

  “Embarrassed?” says Honey.

  We all immediately think it’s Honey’s secret.

  “I’m just guessing. It wasn’t me,” she says, touching her cheek where it’s gone pink. “Ew, disgusting.”

  “Afraid?” says Peroxide Eric.

  He doesn’t look embarrassed. Or afraid. No one thinks it’s him.

  I realize no one thinks it’s me, either. Having a boyfriend is awesome.

  “Good. Why might someone feel afraid?”

  “They might get what they want,” says Peroxide Eric, when no one else speaks. “They’re worried they’re not as experienced as some old dude. Classic example of performance anxiety.”

  There’s a ripple of giggles.

  Mrs. Ashe coughs. “Of course, no teacher in this school would allow such a thing to happen, Eric, as I’m sure you know. We who work in residential education are trained to manage such behavior. It’s inevitable that sometimes feelings of warmth and affection toward the people who take care of your needs here arise.”

  I remain unsold on the inevitability of Finches feeling the urge to make sexytime with Mrs. Ashe. Especially as presumably that also applies to the Mothership.

  Also, she’s going to say “sexual” again. I can feel it.

  “But if those warm feelings tip over into something sexual, then of course the teacher would gently explain that such a relationship really isn’t appropriate.”

  “I thought sexual feelings were a beautiful and natural flowering of adulthood?” says Henry, very slowly and deliberately in a perfect impersonation.

  And anyway we know Mizz Cooper’s lesson plan thinks so, because it’s printed back there on her classroom wall, in pink Comic Sans.

  “Well, yes,” says Mrs. Ashe, shuffling her laminated response cards anxiously. “Sexuality is something to embrace, to enjoy, to never feel ashamed of.”

  “Unless you’re doing a teacher?” says Peroxide Eric.

  “I think we’re getting away from the, er, supportive aspect of the sharing experience.” Mrs. Ashe opens the box quickly and pulls out another slip of paper.

  “I think we’ll allow that one to remain a secret,” she says, crumpling it up. That’ll be Brendan, then. She reaches in for another, slower this time in case it bites.

  “All the time I’m with Girl A, I can’t stop thinking about Girl B.”

  I scan the group. Unless certain people have unexpected announcements to make, the possibilities are pretty narrow. Brendan could be a contender (sympathies to Girl A if so), if he didn’t write the other one. Could be Jambo. But only Peroxide Eric is leaning back with his arms folded across his chest, the tails of his gray coat draped neatly over his log, big strappy boots stuck out straight for balance, whistling.

  He’s not even trying to hide it. It’s like he wants us to know.

  Peroxide
Eric’s cheating on Ludo—or at least thinking about it.

  I’m not an expert, but if Ed did that to me, I’d be…well, surprised, mostly. But then I’d be angry. Or upset. Or both. If I were Ludo, I think I might be a little bit devastated. I’m a little bit devastated myself.

  I look over at Fili, but she’s in default gloom mode. Her face is blank: not a flicker of a reaction. It’s like she’s somewhere else entirely.

  I glance back to Eric, and realize he’s watching me again. Smiling at me working it out, maybe. Maybe just smiling.

  “Goodness, what a romantically inclined lot you are,” says Ashe, attempting to giggle and sounding a bit like a clubbed seal instead. “Would anyone like to share how they think this person is feeling? Politely, please, Brendan?”

  Brendan closes his mouth.

  “Well, I hope they feel dirty,” says Honey. “And guilty. And that they break up with Girl A, because that’s, like, mean.”

  If Cooper were here, we would now be validating Honey like she’d never been validated before. As it is, the flashing neon sign of Personal Issues goes ignored. (We all know she’s talking about Etienne Gracey anyway. That guy gets around.)

  “Yes, well, I think perhaps you could work on your empathetic skills there, Honey. But I see your point of view, certainly. It doesn’t seem like a very kind way to behave.”

  “So that person should feel dirty?” says Henry. “Won’t that get in the way of embracing and enjoying the sexual flowering?”

  “I don’t think dirty is quite the right word, Henry, no. But one really ought to limit the quantity of the…embracing.”

  “By how much, Miss?” says Brendan.

  I glance over to Peroxide Eric again, catching his eye without meaning to. He holds my gaze for a moment, still smiling, then looks away. He’s got tattoos on his arms: inky hand-drawn ones, all the way up his right arm from his wrist. I’m just looking at his tattoos. That’s why I caught his eye. He’s looking at me looking at his tattoos.

  “I don’t think you can catch diseases from Girl B just by thinking about her, Mrs. Ashe,” says Henry, very seriously.

  “No, certainly not. But thinking can lead to all sorts of bad behavior.”

  “You recommend we stop thinking?” says Fili, slowly.

  “No, no, obviously thinking is very important. But just try not to think so much about each other. Like that. In that way.”

  “Because it’s dirty?” says Henry.

  Mrs. Ashe puts on a spectacular performance of the show I like to call “Accidentally Dropping the Prompt Cards for a Distraction.” Mycroft Christie does the same thing with the banknotes in the auction house scene of episode 2.3, “South by Southwest,” so I can’t really fault her.

  “Let’s have another secret, shall we?” Ashe says, once they’ve been gathered up. “Now then: All my friends seem to really like my new boyfriend, except for one. How can I change that person’s mind?”

  My toes curl up inside my shoes.

  OK, so it’s sort of pathetic. But I want everyone to love Ed, and Fili obviously doesn’t, and I don’t even know why. Plus it just so happens that if it turns out she only likes people’s boyfriends if they’re from Düsseldorf and enjoy wearing lederhosen on the sly, my boy might find himself with an unexpected makeover.

  My eyes go to Fili before I can stop them, waiting for her to look up and nail it: see through me like the super-amazing brainy awesome beautiful best friend she is, who would totally love Ed if she’d just give him the chance. But Fili’s weaving the tassely bits at the end of her black scarf together, sighing as if this secret isn’t quite up to her standards. Just like with Peroxide Eric and Ludo: like she doesn’t care about any of us at all.

  I’m totally failing at standard undercover detective protocol, so I clamp my lips together and perform a perfectly casual inquiring sweep of the circle. Who, me? I’m just one of the group. I’m simply wondering whose this one is, like all the others.

  “Next!” says Brendan.

  “Now, Brendan, we’re not here only to talk about sexual feelings. Friendships are just as important. So let’s think about how this person might be feeling, hmm?”

  “Lonely,” says Henry. “They might have to sacrifice an old friendship to keep the new one, without any guarantees the new one will last. And they can’t even talk about it to the people they care most about.”

  I turn to look at him, startled. He’s Henry Kim: I can’t imagine he’s ever been lonely. But he’s looking down at the grass, and for a deranged millisecond I think this must be his secret, not mine.

  Suddenly, Henry hanging out with Jonas and the other Upper rich boys looks a little different.

  “Scared?” says Honey. “Because, like, if her friends don’t like her boyfriend, maybe really that means they don’t like her?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. That wasn’t the question I meant to ask.

  Honey pinks up again. “Or him. Her or him. I don’t know, it’s not me, yeah?”

  But now I’m looking at Fili, and it sort of makes sense. I’m not upset that Fili doesn’t like Ed. I’m upset because Ed is me, and even though she doesn’t know that, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.

  ITP: Insanity Through Paranoia? Or Ickily Truthful People?

  “So what might this person do, do we think, to deal with these feelings?” says Ashe, taking off her dangly specs and waving them so the chain goes twinkly in the sun.

  There’s a long silence.

  “There’s nothing they can do,” murmurs Fili eventually, still plaiting the ends of her scarf, and looking, quite firmly, at the ground. “People like who they like. It’s not always convenient. It’s just how the world is.”

  UChat

  gingerbread_ed: hey ludo

  ludovica_b: hi bb!

  gingerbread_ed: you ok?

  ludovica_b: better than ok

  ludovica_b: :-)

  gingerbread_ed: do i even want to know?

  ludovica_b: omg prolly not!!!

  ludovica_b: think I’m in luv

  gingerbread_ed: oh

  gingerbread_ed: you still seeing that eric guy?

  ludovica_b: seeing a lot of that eric guy

  ludovica_b: ;-)

  ludovica_b: sorry to disappoint you bb, hahaha

  Message from: gingerbread_ed hey dai,

  h told me you and your fella are being really sweet to her, so thanks, mate. think she was feeling a bit blue about one of her friends? probably nothing really, you know what girls are like. or maybe you don’t.

  sorry, that was probably kind of rude.

  ed

  Message from: dai_fawr Hey dude,

  Was kinda rude, mate, yeah. I’m conversant with Team Vajayjay as much as the next bloke, thank you very much. Bet I even know Ryder better than you.

  Anyway, she needn’t worry. Fili’s being a total witch to everyone, not just her.

  Later dude.

  The penthouse, at night. Dashing gentleman detective Mycroft Christie observes, while his lovely assistant Miss Heidi Ryder paces up and down, deep in thought.

  MYCROFT CHRISTIE: I believe I’m supposed to do the pacing up and down, deep in thought, around here.

  HEIDI: Shush. It’s all right for you: Your problems are fun, involve killer assassins from The Future, and can generally be solved in forty-two minutes. Mine are a bit more complicated.

  MYCROFT CHRISTIE: I’ve had my share of experience in the affairs of the heart, my dear.

  HEIDI: I noticed, Mr. Dead Girlfriend of the Week.

  MYCROFT CHRISTIE: There’s no need to be personal. Not all of them died. And some of them turned out to be evil. Granted, that’s not a resounding advertisement for my taste. But might my other area of expertise not be wholly irrelevant?

  HEIDI: Beard-growing? Coat-wearing? Being kind of pompous?

  MYCROFT CHRISTIE: I was referring to the art of detection. It seems to me that you have a c
ase. Several, in fact.

  HEIDI: Huh?

  MYCROFT CHRISTIE: Case number 1: Miss Ludovica Bianchi and her gentleman friend with the wandering eye.

  HEIDI: But what am I supposed to do about that? She’s really happy, and I don’t want to mess that up. But she should know if Peroxide Eric is being a git. Although he might not be, and then I’d have ruined all her happiness for no reason. But then if it is true and she finds out later that I knew, then she’ll hate me. So what’s a good detective meant to do? Tell Ludo? Yell at Peroxide Eric?

  MYCROFT CHRISTIE: Or determine the identity of his Girl B?

  HEIDI: Ooh.

  MYCROFT CHRISTIE: Find the girl, find the crime—or lack thereof. If Girl B is blithely unaware of Peroxide Eric’s interest, then he’s done nothing more than think about her—and Ludo need never know.

  HEIDI: And if Girl B turns out to be Tarty McSlutcakes who’s been doing the nasty with him round the back of the gym, I’ll tell Ludo, right after I’ve given him a kick in the jewels?

  MYCROFT CHRISTIE: Your ladylike turn of phrase is charming, my dear. But yes, it appears you have the general idea. Now, case number 2: Mr. Dai and Mr. Henry.

  HEIDI: I can’t figure out if they’re the perfect couple or a total disaster. They’re so cute together! But now Dai’s gone and convinced himself that Henry’s just waiting for the opportunity to dump him for a never-been-fat upgrade, and Henry has no idea that’s why he’s being weird—but since Dai is being weird, maybe Henry is just waiting for the opportunity to dump him. Except I sort of assumed he was way too nice to do something like that.

  MYCROFT CHRISTIE: Perchance a detective might make further inquiries into said niceness?

  HEIDI: Perchance I could. Some gentle interrogation of Henry, to check he’s not going to turn out to be Evil Boyfriend of the Week and break ickle Dai’s heart? Followed by knocking their heads together till they go back to being adorable?